Leon sat back against the castle wall, watching the fire Percival had started for them. He was exhausted, and he was thinking of the way Gwaine had looked at him that morning, that knowing look. Perhaps it was his imagination, all the long days and sleepless nights, but he was beginning to think he hadn't been very good at hiding his feelings.
He crossed his arms and frowned as Gwaine started to peel off his socks. His nose twitched, and thankfully he wasn't the only one.
"Has something died?" Elyan said.
Gwaine rolled his eyes and said, "Why am I always the butt?"
"Can't think," Leon said, grinning.
Gwaine gestured with his socks, which seemed a mistake, because they were dangerously close to the flame.
"Pick on Percival," Gwaine said.
"Why me?" Percival said, looking up like he'd been wounded.
Elyan shook his head and said, "He washes."
Leon nodded to the flame and said, "And he doesn't set fire to his socks."
"No," Gwaine said, frantically trying to put out the flame where the socks had caught.
"Quiet!" Arthur said, drawing his sword. They all turned at the sound of footsteps, and they frowned as Lancelot entered their space.
"Lancelot?" Arthur said, nervous. "How's Merlin?"
"Bad news," Lancelot said solemnly, and Leon felt his throat tighten. Then he grinned and said, "He's still alive."
Merlin came in, and Leon sighed, glad he'd not made a poor choice, urging Arthur onward.
"Merlin!" Elyan cried, grinning.
"Good to see you, Merlin," Arthur said.
"Yeah," Merlin said, pale but no worse for wear. "Good to see you too."
They all embraced Merlin, and Leon tried to find signs in Merlin's face of how he was, but apart from looking tired and pale, he could have been totally unscathed. It was a tenuous thing to hold on to, but Leon wanted to believe that it was a sign that this was something they could find a way to vanquish after all.
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Krysia absently picked at her plait, watching the people milling about in the square from the griffin statue stair. They were gathering the dead and dying, taking stock of the night, and forming parties to gather more firewood from the Darkling Woods. She felt so useless after so many nights of this, to know that her magic could do nothing, to know that her dagger could do nothing, to know that she had no recourse but to play politics and wait for news from the Isle of the blessed.
"You're going to undo that," Geraint said, standing beside her at the window. He took her hand in his gloved hands, removing it from her hair. "I imagine your maid spent some time on it."
Krysia hummed, frowning.
"What troubles you, my lady?" Geraint said.
She said nothing, staring out at the people, adding the hours to see how long it had been since the knights had ridden out. She knew they would reach the veil soon, but what result they would have…
"Krysia?" Geraint whispered, nudging her shoulder gently. "What is it?"
She closed her eyes at hearing her name unadorned from his lips, almost relieved that he was treating her as a human instead of a noble, even if only for a moment.
"People are dying," she said, "and I'm expected to talk about where we're going to gather the flowers for my wedding and how I'd like my hair done today."
"And grain distribution," he said with a cheeky smile. "Don't forget our rousing conversation in the council about grain distribution."
She clicked her tongue, and his smile fell again.
"I know it's probably not the point of the whole thing for you," he said, "but your wedding is something for people to cling to right now. It's something to look forward to, something normal that exists in that nebulous space on the other side of all this, that safe zone that we otherwise can't conceive of. Giving the servants arrangements to plan and knights a joust to practice for and the kitchens a feast to prepare and the people a point of gossip to cling to…you're feeding the hope of an entire kingdom. That's pretty important, I think."
She forced a smile and said, "And if Gwaine doesn't make it back? If they…if they aren't successful?"
Geraint stayed still for a long moment, obviously unsure what to say, but when she couldn't hold back the first of her tears, he quickly brushed it off her cheek and said, "Well, I'll marry you, then." She let out a watery laugh, and he said, "Mind you, we'd make each other miserable, and I'm sure I'm not nearly as handsome as Gwaine, but I'm tall, and I'm not ugly, and if my brother dies, I've got a decent plot of land to add to yours. And I've been assured I don't snore, so that's got to count for something."
Krysia's body couldn't decide between laughing and crying, and Geraint held her to his chest, letting her do both as they stood at the window, taking their quiet moment to mourn all the loss and pain of the past week.
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They reached the shore of the Seas of Meredor, and the lake in question. They could see the island from the shore, but there was only one way out to it, and a ferryman waited there.
"The Isle of the Blessed," Arthur said, staring across the water.
Gwaine was glad that the quest was almost over, but he knew it wasn't finished until they were ready to head home. Nothing could be seen as certain.
The men piled into the longboat, and it glided easily across the sea, approaching the island. They disembarked, and almost at once, the heard the shrieking of an animal that Gwaine found all-too-familiar.
"What is that?" Leon said, looking around.
Pheasants, Gwaine thought bitterly.
"I hope I'm wrong," Gwaine said, unsheathing his sword.
More shrieking, and they could see the beasts circling around the isle's fortress.
"Wyvern!" Arthur cried.
"You're right!" Percival said.
They hurried to the fortress, but the wyvern began to attack. They slashed and they struck, but wyvern were extremely hardy. Things looked pretty dire, but suddenly the wyvern flew off, at least for the moment.
"See?" Gwaine said with a triumphant whoop. "That's how to deal with them!"
Arthur, ever the serious on, said, "We need to keep moving."
But the shrieking sounded again, already circling back, and Leon shook his head.
"Sire, you must go on," he said. "We'll fend them off."
They split in two: Gwaine, Merlin, and Lancelot going with Arthur; Leon, Percival, and Elyan staying behind to fight. Gwaine thought the odds of survival were pretty bleak either way, but he wasn't about to let Merlin out of his sight after what happened the last time they split up.
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It took a little time to find, just following the cold sensation in their bones, but Gwaine's party found the altar hall, and a strange old woman stood by a massive, strange kind of portal.
"It is not often we have visitors," the woman said.
"Put an end to this," Arthur said. "I demand you heal the tear between the two worlds."
"It was not I who created this horror," the woman said, humorless now. "Why should it be I to stop it?"
"Because innocent people are dying," Merlin said.
"Indeed?" she said, and she began to laugh, a horrible sound.
Gwaine had heard enough. He ran for her, sword at the ready, but before he reached her, she flung out her arm, and he felt himself flying through the air before he felt nothing.
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Leon knelt over Gwaine as Merlin tended to Arthur. Gwaine groaned, and Leon took a look at the wound on Gwaine's scalp.
"Doesn't appear to be a serious bleed," Leon said, "but you're going to be sore. Are you dizzy?"
"What happened?" Gwaine said.
Leon hesitated, then said, "Merlin said that Lancelot sacrificed himself. He offered his life as a sacrifice to close the tear in the veil."
Gwaine was silent for a long moment, and he let Leon help him to his feet. Finally, he said, "Krysia's going to kill me."
"Why's that?" Leon said.
"Lancelot was supposed to escort her to the dais at the wedding," he said. "This is going to be my fault somehow."
Leon hummed, squeezing Gwaine's shoulder.
"You're right," Leon said with a weak smile he didn't feel. "You're a dead man. Good luck."
Gwaine was steady enough to ride, they decided, but the ride back was as quiet and solemn from the beginning as the ride there had been at the end, not remotely the conquering, victorious return they had hoped for.
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Krysia stood with Arthur in a fairly plain green dress, staring at the pyre set up, with the folded cloak and a sword set atop it.
"I want to pay tribute to Sir Lancelot," Arthur said to the whole gathered knights, lined around the pyre. "We owe him a great debt. But is not just his dead that we will never forget. It is his courage, his compassion, his unselfish heart. He was the most noble knight I will ever know. He gave his life for all of us."
Krysia handed Arthur the torch, and he set fire to the pyre. They stood in silence, watching it, and when Arthur went to grab Gwen's hand as she cried, Krysia moved off from the pyre, holding her arms to her chest, unseeing as she walked.
She got everything she'd wished for, everything she'd asked. The veil was sealed. Arthur was unscathed. Merlin didn't have to sacrifice. Gwaine returned home and to her bed in time for their wedding plans to go ahead. In many ways, it was the best way for things to work out.
So why did she feel so hollow?
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Krysia passed Agravaine on her way to Gaius's chambers, and he bowed lightly to her, and she dipped her head in return. When she entered, Merlin was coming out of his room, and she asked what Agravaine had wanted.
"He asked about Emrys," Merlin said softly. He looked like he'd been crying, and a shiver ran over Krysia's back.
"The only person that could have heard that name," Gaius said softly. "Morgana. There's your answer, Krysia. We know Morgana's powers are growing. She too must have seen the Cailleach."
"And she's teamed up with Agravaine," Krysia said, frowning. "It explains that while he doesn't trust me, he's keeping me alive. I think she expects she can still convince me to join her. I knew he still held on to his brother's bitterness, but to turn to Morgana—"
"Yes, I suspect he's not as virtuous as he seems," Gaius said, frowning as Merlin took this in. "And you're right, he has every reason to despise Uther. We must be aware; Morgana can never know the truth. She must never know who Merlin really is."
Krysia and Merlin both nodded, and she had a feeling that Agravaine's poking hadn't ended here. The question was, how did she throw him off without raising his suspicion?
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The most solemn, silent table at the tavern was tucked into the corner, with three pitchers of ale brought by the barman without a question. Leon, Elyan, Percival, Geraint, and Gwaine squeezed around the table, and they all stared wordlessly at their tankards for a long time. Elyan was rubbing his thumb along the handle of his tankard. Percival's jaw kept tightening, then relaxing, then tightening again. Gwaine was rocking back and forth on his chair, and it creaked lightly under the shifting of his weight. Geraint looked around at each of their faces, before looking Leon in the eye and saying, "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you all."
Elyan's hand tightened around the handle of his tankard, and Leon sighed.
"There's nothing you could have done," he said. "As Arthur said, someone had to seal the veil. It was the only way. If it wasn't Lancelot, it would have been someone else."
Geraint hummed, and he frowned at Gwaine.
"Has Lady Krysia decided who will escort her now?"
"I haven't dared to ask," Gwaine said. He took a long drink of ale, then let Percival refill his cup from the nearest pitcher. "She's been quiet since we returned."
"She was quiet while you were gone as well," Geraint said. "She and Agravaine have…very different methods of rule. I thought they might come to blows without Arthur between them."
There was laughter on the other side of the tavern, but none of them looked up. It was good, Leon thought, that there was laughter in the kingdom again, that people were finding a way to move forward with their lives, but the weight of losing Lancelot the way they had was heavier than any other knight he'd lost. It seemed true for Arthur as well.
He wasn't just another knight. He was a friend. Maybe not in the same way Geraint was, but a friend nonetheless. If he lost any of these men sitting around the table from him, he would likely feel the same. He just hated that he didn't fully understand that until someone was gone.
Percival raised his tankard, and the others looked at him.
"To the bravest, most courteous, most selfless man I ever knew," Percival said. "He could bring people together, build people up, and always ran first into the breach, no matter the danger."
Elyan nodded, raising his tankard.
"To Lancelot," he said.
The others all raised their tankards and echoed Elyan's words. Leon took a long drink from his tankard and wished that the tribute had taken some of the heaviness from his chest, but it was still settled there, unmoving.
"It's a shame," Gwaine said. "D'you know, if somehow it were Lancelot and me in the final of the tourney next week, he'd have let me win."
"Mate, it's your wedding tourney," Geraint said with a burst of laughter. "We're all letting you win."
They laughed, genuine laughs, the first ones since they'd returned to Camelot. Leon didn't know if it was only him, but the laughter felt wrong, sounded wrong. He forced a smile as Elyan held up his tankard again.
"To Krysia and Gwaine!" Elyan said.
Again, they echoed and toasted, and again Leon said the words. He meant them as much as he'd meant the others, but instead of lifting any of the lingering heaviness in his chest, it settled tighter. He noticed the sly look Geraint gave him after they took their drinks, and Leon hoped he was making a good showing of feeling no pain. He hoped, because he wasn't sure at the moment he was feeling anything at all.
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Krysia woke early the next day, well before first light. She dressed in silence and lazily put up her hair, sitting at the window to watch the sun rise. Of all the deaths the Dorocha had brought, Lancelot's was one the kingdom would not quickly recover from. It felt strange, almost inappropriate to move forward with a wedding in this climate of mourning.
She startled so much at the knock at her door that she nearly smacked her head on the stone of the wall before she told the knocker to enter. It was too early to be Drea or Enid, so she expected there had been some minor emergency with the king. She was surprised and almost relieved to see Gwaine pushing the door open, leaning against the doorframe.
"You're out of bed," he said, pouting slightly. "Gods, how late is it?"
"Early," she said. "The sunrise will start soon."
The look of longing he gave her stirred through her messy emotions, and she couldn't help smiling slightly to herself. His mind did have more than one track, but it certainly had a favorite one.
He took a slightly staggering step into the room, and she laughed.
"C'mon," he said. "It's cold. You should get back in bed."
"It's fine," she said, letting him grab her hands, but not letting him pull her up. "Gwaine, you're drunk."
"Only a little," he said.
She could smell the ale on his breath when he leaned in to kiss her, so she didn't kiss him long. He tried again to pull her to her feet, and she relented.
"Fine," she said, "but just so you're laying down, to keep you from hurting yourself."
He pouted again.
"You're no fun."
"Would you rather I just turned you away?" she said sweetly.
He whimpered, and he tugged her toward the bed. They laid under the duvet, both fully dressed. Gwaine pressed his face to her neck, and she traced her hands through his hair lazily, feeling each strand.
"I thought we were all going to die," he whispered finally.
Krysia said nothing, feeling him shift toward her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her as he pressed his head closer to her. She closed her eyes.
"I thought I was going to have to break my promise," he said. "Percival said he'd bring back my body so I could keep it, but if he died too, I don't know. So…so I'm sad that Lancelot's gone, and I miss him, and I want to mourn him with everyone else, but I can't stop thinking, it could have been all of us, and that would have been worse. And I'm…relieved."
He sat up, looking up at her with his wide brown eyes in the dim light of dawn.
"Does that make me horrible?" he whispered, awaiting her judgment with trepidation.
Krysia hesitated, then leaned down and kissed his forehead.
"Horrible?" she said. "No more horrible than anyone else. Lancelot would want you to remember, not dwell. He did it for that purpose, so that everyone else could live. I don't think there's anything wrong with celebrating that gift."
He hummed, and he stayed silent until he began to lightly snore against her chest. Krysia watched the light fill the room, and she wished it were as simple to feel that her words were true as it was to say them.
A/N:
So, the Veil is closed, Lancelot made his sacrifice, and now they're all putting the pieces back together. Agravaine is looking for Emrys, and Krysia's suspicions of him prove to be founded. Next: the wedding!
-C